Into Bloom
by Omnicat
Summary: Shirin behaved remarkably like Marina's old nanny. But Marina was older now, Shirin was by no means a grandmother, and even the simplest of gestures was no longer innocent. Shirin x Marina... ish.


**Title:** Into Bloom

**Author:** Omnicat v''v

**Rating:** T

**Genre:** Romance

**Spoilers & Desirable Foreknowledge:** Nothing much.

**Warnings:** Marina being molestable. :shifty eyes:

**Pairings:** Shirin Bhaktiar x Marina Ismail

**Disclaimer:** If they were mine this ship would _so_ be canon. This, or Graham x Marina. But neither is. You do the math.

**Summary:** Shirin behaved remarkably like Marina's old nanny. But Marina was older now, Shirin was by no means a grandmother, and even the simplest of touches was no longer innocent. SBxMI

**Author's Note:** Er... enjoy?

**II-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-I-oOo-I-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-II**

**Into Bloom**

Marina had never thought appraising looks from other women, sweeping over every inch of her and lingering in places men were to avoid, odd. She had never felt embarrassed when bits of lint were brushed off her shoulder, her skirts were straightened out for her, stray locks of hair were tucked behind her ear.

There had always been older women to help her bathe and dress and comb her long hair before going to bed, to kiss things better when she was hurt, hold her when she was frightened and rock her when she was sad.

She used to find it quite amusing how the eyes of those women tended to narrow when people smiled too widely at her or stood too close to her, long lashes coming together and the delicate hues in between deepening and darkening.

Despite the fifty year age difference, Shirin behaved remarkably like Marina's old nanny. But Marina was older now, Shirin was by no means a grandmother, and even the simplest of touches was no longer innocent.

**I-oOo-I**

"Poise." she hisses, making Marina stiffen, back rigid and face ashen as Shirin's hand buries under her skirts, strong, slender fingers digging into the folds of cloth at the juncture of her legs while foreign delegates await them just one door away.

"A lady must always," Hot breath, sweet almonds and spicy herbs, wrapping around her throat like silken rope, supple body pressing close to her side. "no matter what happens, keep her composure."

And then Shirin, formal and proper, sweeps through the doors, leaving Marina cold, shivering in the empty, swirling void of expectant gazes.

**I-oOo-I**

Marina is wary when Shirin takes her aside in the ballroom, not-quite-shielding them from prying eyes behind a pillar. But nothing could have prepared her for the dainty hands that straighten her puffed sleeves, pull some black hair from her collar and cup her breasts.

She blinks rapidly to dispel the prickling behind her eyes but dares not turn her head to make sure they are alone.

Shirin looks her in the eye this time, her expression as sharp and coolly detached as always while she kneads the soft, silk-encased mounds. "Self control is essential. Never let another think they have the upper hand. That knowledge is the key to your downfall."

Releasing the sensitive flesh, she wipes the tiniest of liquid crystals from thick, dark lashes before entwining their arms and leading Marina back onto the dance floor, where suitors and leeches are gathered by the dozens.

**I-oOo-I**

Hands settle in the curve of her waist as she prepares herself to step out onto the balcony and face the gathered masses. Ghostly touches trail over her ribs and circle her belly-button through the fabric of her dress, kisses are pressed along her jaw and beneath her ear, like brightly glowing butterflies fluttering under her skin. Marina's trembling dies away, her breath grows shallow.

Brushing back the curtain of silk, Shirin lets her lips linger on her lady's cheek. Jasmine from the waves and loops of her short hair engulfs them. "They wish to devour their sovereign whole, but how much they get is entirely up to you."

**I-oOo-I**

They prepare to enter the mosque in a bubble of silence amidst the chatter of countless women, young and old, performing the cleansing ritual.

Shirin pours water over Marina's feet and dips their entwined hands into the shallow basin. Her touch is tender but inappropriate, taking away from Marina's independence as a grown woman, her status as princess, the boundary of servant and employer.

Cool, wet fingers linger on Marina's eyelids, caress her cheekbones, trail down to her mouth. There they hesitate, until the blue of Marina's eyes is revealed and soft lips part, drawing the digits in and releasing a warm tongue that catches the cold droplets that glisten on Shirin's skin.

They are surrounded by prying eyes and mouths capable of questioning, but Marina is calm and graceful, and to the outside eye the scene looks so natural as to seem part of the room's tiled design.

**I-oOo-I**

When Shirin's hands and mouth no longer phase her and the fears have been overcome, the older woman nods in satisfaction.

The next time she slides her arms around her princess's waist, Marina's sleek, dark hair glints like a finely cut diamond in the soft glow of the bed light.

"My lady, it is meant to be enjoyed."

Modestly painted lips curl into a smile.

Marina wonders if Shirin knows this means war.

**II-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-I-oOo-I-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-II**

**PSAN:** Purty words... . Not much plot, though. Meh.


End file.
